


The Little Things

by NestingHedwig_aka_LinW



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artist Harry Potter, Character Bashing, Glassmaking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Snarry-A-Thon19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 11:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18872161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NestingHedwig_aka_LinW/pseuds/NestingHedwig_aka_LinW
Summary: When the Dark Lord dies, Harry's magical core is decimated. Does Harry still fit into the magical world when he is thought to be a Squib?





	The Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Snarry-a-Thon 2019 - The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and pain.
> 
> There are no Deathly Hallows in this universe and Harry does not become the Master of Death.
> 
> All characters depicted herein in adult situations may safely be assumed to be over eighteen.
> 
> Disclaimer: The story is based on characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including, but not limited to Scholastic Books and Warner Bros. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended; no monetary gain will be made from this story.
> 
> //Parseltongue//
> 
> Prompt 1 - Wild Card

_"The little things? The little moments? They aren't little."_ \-- Jon Kabat-Zinn

~*~*~*~*~  
**ONE**  
**_In the Midst of the Battle for Hogwarts_**

Hermione Granger clutched Harry Potter's arm to slow his pace as he strode toward the Whomping Willow. It was imperative that they both remain fully covered by Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Cautiously, they both looked around the school grounds, wary of hidden intruders. The rag-tag group of Light-leaning witches and wizards had managed to drive the Death Eaters from the school, but it was only a matter of time before the Dark Lord's forces regrouped and launched another attack on Hogwarts. Based upon the thick black smoke in the distant sky, Hogsmeade most certainly had fallen.

"Do you think this is really necessary?" Hermione asked, trying to catch her breath. She was terrified to be beyond the fragile security of the castle itself but refused to let Harry go on alone.

"Yes." Harry's reply was terse, as he ducked a flailing willow branch. Carefully, he prodded the knothole at the base of the Whomping Willow, causing the vicious tree to temporarily freeze. "We have to seal off all the secret passages into Hogwarts before the Death Eaters use them. Both Pettigrew and Snape know about the tunnel leading from the Shrieking Shack. I'm damn sure they haven't kept it a secret."

Harry slid into the opening at the willow's roots and waited for Hermione to join him. He examined the walls and floor of the tunnel, debating how best to destroy it. This was the last known "secret" passage way to be sealed, and he wondered if he should just collapse it at the tree's base or travel all the way to the Shrieking Shack and collapse it there as well, making the path doubly hard to clear.

He regretted the need to collapse this tunnel, as well as the already destroyed tunnel leading to Honeydukes basement, because they both could have been used as escape routes. In the end, Acting Headmistress Minerva McGonagall had decided that, due to the heavy presence of Death Eaters in Hogsmeade, the risk of keeping the tunnels intact was too great.

As the willow began to thrash above him once again, Harry studied the Marauder's Map, making sure they had not been followed. He closed his eyes, momentarily remembering the deceased creators of the tattered parchment and the others that had fallen earlier that day.

He clenched his teeth as he read the names the map revealed to be within the Shrieking Shack itself - Severus Snape and Thomas Marvolo Riddle. Knowing Voldemort rarely went anywhere without Nagini at his side, Harry feared the deadly serpent resided within the derelict building as well. There was no way to know for certain she was there because the map could only locate those disguised in their Animagus form. It could not indicate an actual animal.

A flash of light from the room beyond momentarily illuminated the narrow passageway and they could hear a dull impact. The light flashed again - the dull reddish glow of a dark spell being cast - and a scream echoed down the tunnel.

Reflexively, Harry clasped his hand over Hermione's mouth, muffling her soft cry of alarm. He slipped his Invisibility Cloak over his head.

"Stay here," he hissed as another scream rend the air.

"No," Hermione hissed back, inwardly cursing Harry's _people saving thing_. "It could be a trap."

With the Invisibility Cloak now covering both of them, they crept down the tunnel, wands firmly held in clenched fingers. The packed dirt floor muffled their footsteps as their neared the opening leading to the main room of the Shrieking Shack.

"Crucio!" The high-pitched voice of the Dark Lord shouted. A hoarse, pained cry echoed as the curse hit, followed by harsh breathing.

"You think I did not know the depths of your deceit?"

"My Lord..."

"Crucio!"

Harry clutched the hawthorn wand he had captured from Draco Malfoy, wishing he had his familiar holly wand instead. 

"Where have you hidden the true Sssword of Gryffindor, Sssnape?"

Harry felt Hermione stiffen behind him. The missing sword was presently tucked inside the beaded handbag hung around her neck. They had used it to destroy the Horcrux in Slytherin's Locket and would need it to kill Nagini if the opportunity presented itself.

"Don't try to lie to me, ssspy...The Carrowsss notified me the ssssword went misssing while you were ssstill running Hogwartsss."

Harry peered around the door frame into the dimly lit room beyond. Severus was on his hands and knees, his limbs twitching violently from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse. He could also see Nagini floating in a protective bubble at Lord Voldemort's feet.

//I sssmell deccceit, Massster,// the serpent hissed. //Can I eat him?//

//No, my preciousss. The ssstink of potionsss hasss corrupted hisss meat.// The dark wizard's serpentine features twisted in a parody of a smile. He reached his dragonhide boot clad foot beneath the potions master's chin, roughly forcing it up.

"Were you ever faithful to me, my ssslippery friend? Have you alwaysss played one ssside against the other? Or were you alwaysss Dumbledore'sss man?" Something flickered in Severus' dark eyes, and the Dark Lord laughed in sudden realization. "Cold revenge for your murdered Mudblood bitch...Pathetic fool."

//Kill him, Nagini!//

Voldemort stepped aside, releasing the protective bubble. The serpent struck, tearing into his throat before Severus could move to protect himself.

//Come, Nagini. I will find you sssomeone more tender to eat.//

Voldemort and his familiar Disapparated with barely a pop.

~*~*~*~*~  
Harry launched himself across the floor, dropping beside the stricken wizard. He pressed one hand against the other man's throat, trying to hold the wound together, trying to stanch the flow of blood. He held his wand against the largest tear.

"Episkey!"

The healing charm seemed to have little effect.

"No...time..." Severus rasped. "You...must..."

A silvery substance bubbled from the man's mouth and eyes. Memories, Harry realized at the same time he heard Hermione conjure a crystal vial.

"This will tell me how to kill him?" Harry demanded, and Severus blinked once and closed his eyes. Hermione collected the rest of the silvery fluid. She sealed the precious Pensieve memories.

"Episkey!" Harry cast again, but the spell still made little difference. "Mione, do you know something stronger?"

"It's the venom, Harry. He needs anti-venom."

Severus blinked once again, verifying her conclusion.

Harry pulled off his t-shirt and held it against the torn throat. Beside him, Hermione rummaged through the pockets in Severus' robes, pulling out numerous vials of potions in the hopes of finding something to help the dying professor. 

Harry’s thoughts ricocheted. Even if they could stabilize the bleeding, it would take too long to levitate the older man to the Hogwarts infirmary, and they could not Apparate into the castle.

 _They_ couldn't Apparate, but house-elves _could_.

"Kreacher!"

~*~*~*~*~  
**_Neither Would Live, Neither Would Survive_**

Harry surfaced from Dumbledore's Pensieve and crumpled to the carpet. He finally knew the truth. He had only ever been a weapon to Albus Dumbledore. He was never meant to have a life, never meant to have a future, never meant to survive.

"I'm _The Chosen One_ all right," Harry thought bitterly. He was the one _chosen_ to grow up in an abusive household so that he would have no self worth. He was the one _chosen_ to face the alternating adoration and ridicule of the Wizarding public alone to prevent arrogance. He was the one _chosen_ to be Dumbledore's puppet. He was the one _chosen_ to dispose of Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes. He was the one _chosen_ to present himself to Voldemort, and not raise a wand to defend himself. And he was the one _chosen_ to walk calmly into Death's welcoming arms.

"Fuck it," he thought, as he crawled off the floor. There was no way to sugar coat it. He was the one _chosen_ to be the Light's pig for slaughter.

~*~*~*~*~  
Voldemort's magically amplified voice suddenly rang through the castle walls and could be heard throughout all of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. 

"I know that you are preparing to fight. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter, and they shall not be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight." (1)

Chaos erupted as the battle-weary witches and wizards reacted to Voldemort's ultimatum. A vocal minority demanded that they surrender Harry Potter to save their own skin. The remaining majority held that minority at wandpoint, vowing to fight with Harry to the end.

~*~*~*~*~  
Ignoring the pandemonium surrounding him, Harry stood beside Severus' unconscious body and contemplated the memories he had viewed in the Pensieve minutes before.

Snape's memories were a double-edged sword. On one hand, Harry finally had memories of his mother that did not involve her death, and seeing Lily, Petunia and Severus as children gave him an unexpected insight into both his aunt and the dour potions master, but the bullying the Marauders subjected Severus to provided him a bittersweet glimpse of a juvenile James, Remus and Sirius.

To have concrete evidence that Dumbledore condoned his deplorable childhood, never viewing him as anything but a tool for _the Greater Good,_ tore at Harry in a way he couldn't even describe. But, Severus' unexpected defense of him, and the vow to protect Lily's son, shocked him to the core.

Harry's finger ran up the length of the chain securing Severus' wrist to the infirmary bed. Guilty until proven innocent. He noted the greyish tinge to the dark wizard's normally sallow complexion. Several doses of anti-venom had been administered, and it was expected that the spy would live, but recovery might be lengthy. The residual venom of Nagini’s bite prevented all attempts at a magical healing. The wound oozed malevolently into the gauze packed loosely around it.

Harry glanced around the busy room, healers scurrying from patient to patient, hoping to cure those they could before the next battle began. Over the low hum of activity, no one could ignore the growing threat that lay beyond the castle walls. Injured or not, every available wand would be necessary if there was any hope for survival.

"Thank you for everything, Professor." The green-eyed wizard gently squeezed Severus' hand. 

Like him, the man was another pawn on magic's chessboard. No, Harry thought, not a pawn. Snape was the bishop to Dumbledore's queen. And then Harry realized he wasn't truly a pawn either. Rook or knight? Knight or rook? Definitely a knight, he finally decided. He always leapt forward into the fray and often landed blindly to the left or the right because he didn't have enough of Dumbledore's carefully hoarded information.

Harry expelled a breath. Well, he finally had all the information now, and a fat lot of good it would do him.

He was a Horcrux, and there was really nothing more final than that.

~*~*~*~*~  
Neville Longbottom looked from the battered scabbard holding Gryffindor’s Sword resting in his open palms to Harry's pale face.

"I don't understand..."

"Nagini must die before Voldemort can be killed. There are only two ways to kill her - Fiendfyre or Gryffindor's Sword."

"But..."

"What I must do will be for naught if the snake doesn't die first. Remember, Neville, Fiendfyre or Gryffindor's Sword."

"What are you going to do, Harry?" 

Like everyone else in the castle, Neville had heard Voldemort's ultimatum, but didn't believe one word the Dark Lord uttered. The only reward the nose-less bastard would give them was death, and anyone who didn't believe that was a fool. 

Neville wrapped his hand around the hilt of the ancient battle sword, pulling it free of the protective sheath. He gave it a swing, testing its balance.

"Be careful with that, Nev. There's basilisk venom on the blade." Harry smiled thinly at his friend and then wrapped himself up in his Invisibility Cloak.

If Dumbledore was correct and that _all_ Horcruxes must be destroyed before Thomas Riddle can die, then there was no way Harry _could_ cast the final blow.

"Harry?"

Harry's disembodied voice spoke from across the room. "Dumbledore thought the prophesy was about one of us. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was about both of us. After viewing Snape's Pensieve memories, I don’t believe it’s something I can do on my own anymore."

~*~*~*~*~  
**_In the Days Following the Battle for Hogwarts_**

Anonymous in their hooded cloaks, a trio of Unspeakables huddled beside three wizards, one covered in blood that was not his own, and the other two unconscious, their lives hanging by the merest thread. They had already examined two battlefield corpses, reviewed Severus’ Pensieve memories, and questioned available witnesses.

Acting Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, and Mediwitch Poppy Pomfrey stood protectively at the edge of the proceedings, offering silent support to Neville as he refused to turn over the blood-coated founder’s artifact clenched firmly in his hands. They knew that if the Unspeakables ever took possession of the Sword of Gryffindor, the blade would never return to Hogwarts from the Department of Mysteries.

The hooded wizards discussed information found in their ancient texts, and then performed obscure spells over the two unconscious men. When one of the researchers attempted to force Severus to consciousness in order to question him, Poppy flew at the trio, ordering them out of her infirmary.

The Unspeakables retreated. They would need to meticulously reexamine all the available evidence before returning to continue their interrogations. The corpses of Nagini and Thomas Riddle were already on their way to the Ministry for post-mortem.

“Horcruxes,” one of the men muttered as they exited Poppy’s domain. “Nasty business, that.”

~*~*~*~*~  
Severus slowly drifted to consciousness. He was so terribly tired, and everything ached. He breathed in the scents he associated with healing and wondered, not where he was, but how he was.

Nagini had torn open his throat. How was he still alive? He had vague memories of green eyes, of Potter, of Granger, and of silver in a vial.

Severus struggled to open his eyes, but he was just too tired. He drifted off into a healing sleep.

~*~*~*~*~  
A mediwitch on loan from St. Mungo’s Hospital wound her way between beds in the crowded Hogwarts infirmary. A dark grey lump beneath the closest bed caught her eye. Thinking it was a bit of discarded clothing, she bent down to retrieve it. The bright yellow eyes of a thin soot-grey cat gazed back at her.

“How did you get in here, Lovey?” she crooned as she plucked the cat up from the floor and took it out of the infirmary and into the hallway. “You’re going to get stepped on if you stay in there.”

Mrs. Norris blinked her eyes, unnerved by her sudden displacement. She shook herself and padded down the debris-strewn hallway. 

Maybe she could find a nice fat mouse to eat.

~*~*~*~*~  
Severus awoke, still too weak to raise his head without assistance. As the days passed, the beds in the Hogwarts infirmary began to empty. Other patients were released or relocated to St. Mungo’s for more extensive procedures until only he and one other patient remained in Poppy’s care. For different reasons, they were both too much of a security risk to move to a public hospital.

Bored by staring up at the all too familiar ceiling, his attention slowly drifted to the soft voice of the witch sitting beside the other occupied bed.

For days, Hermione had been reading aloud from a thick Muggle novel about hobbits, dwarves and elves to an unresponsive Harry Potter. When asked why she was wasting her time reading to someone who was unconscious, she had simply responded that sometimes coma patients remembered people speaking to them when they once again awoke.

But no one really knew if Harry would wake. When the young wizard had faced Lord Voldemort alone and unarmed in the Forbidden Forest, the dark wizard’s killing curse ripped away the Horcrux embedded in Harry’s scar, fracturing his magical core. The abrupt loss of a wizard’s magic usually caused sudden death. 

But Harry did not die, and no one knew when or if Harry would awaken, and if he did, what damage would remain.

~*~*~*~*~  
Severus grimaced as St. Mungo’s Healer Hippocrates Smethwyck collected samples of the blood and pus still oozing from his ravaged throat into numerous vials for further study. Specialists were trying to determine a way to combat the venom’s skin-dissolving properties and heal the wound. At this point, it appeared that if the wound could not heal slowly on its own, without magical intervention, it might never heal.

Smethwyck handed over additional vials to Unspeakable Algernon Croaker for research. Only because he was an old friend of hers and Poppy trusted him, Croaker was the only member from the Department of Mysteries permitted into her infirmary while both of her remaining patients were so fragile.

Listening carefully to what they were saying, Severus and Poppy looked on as Smethwyck and Croaker cast additional spells over the still comatose Harry. Croaker ran a final set of diagnostic scans, these Ancient Egyptian in origin, and then contemplated his findings.

The Horcrux was gone, and with its destruction, all traces of _Darke Magik_ were gone as well, which was a very good thing, but it was also highly perplexing. With the obliteration of the abomination, something that evil should have left fragments of dark magic behind. And even more unusual, there seemed to be no traces of any magic at all left in the young man’s core, and that was the real tragedy. No matter how weak it would be, even a Squib had traces of magic in their core.

“Did you get any readings at all, Al?” Smethwyck asked.

“No magic registers at all,” Croaker replied softly.

“So, Potter’s now less than a Squib,” the healer sighed. “Damnation. You know the public will have a field day with that once _The Daily Prophet_ spews their poison.”

“And do you plan to reveal that tidbit to them, Hyp? Don’t healers take a vow for patient confidentiality?” Croaker asked, shortly. “I can guarantee that information will not be coming from Madam Pomfrey or me.” 

“No matter how careful we are, you know it is bound to come out.” Smethwyck rubbed his eyes. “Does that mean Potter wasn’t _The Chosen One_ after all? Wasn’t truly _The Prophesy Child_?”

“As you well know, prophecies are open to many ways of interpretation, and just because Harry Potter didn’t fulfill it exactly the way Albus Dumbledore expected him to, it doesn’t mean he didn’t fulfill it.” Croaker packed away his books and parchments. “This boy is a hero, and Squib or not, I won’t hear a word against him.”

“How can you say that? He didn’t end the conflict. Neville Longbottom’s the one who beheaded Lord Thingy with Gryffindor’s Sword.” 

“Which is something Longbottom wouldn’t have been able to accomplish if all the other Horcruxes weren’t destroyed first. How many seventeen-year-olds – no, how many adult witches and wizards – do you think would have the bollocks to walk into Riddle’s camp and face that dark bastard without even drawing a wand?” 

“I…”

“Exactly. Harry Potter stood before the darkest wizard of our time and let that thing cast an Avada Kedavra at him without defending himself, knowing that only by his death could the dark bastard be slain. That is the most selfless, heroic act I have ever heard of, and if the brainless sheep of the magical world can’t see that…well, fuck them.”

That said, Croaker stalked out of the infirmary, his robe flowing behind him. Smethwyck hurried after him.

Poppy and Severus shared a smile.

~*~*~*~*~  
Poppy made her final rounds in the darkened infirmary before heading to bed. Moonlight illuminated her way, the bright light of the full moon, casting harlequin colored patterns as it flooded through the clear and stained-glass diamond panes in the large floor to ceiling leaded glass window panels lining the entire outer wall. 

Lamplight yellow eyes glittered from the foot of Harry’s bed, and Poppy sighed in frustration. No matter how many times she removed her, Mrs. Norris still managed to sneak back into the infirmary and make a nest for herself in the young man’s bed.

“I just don’t know why you keep coming in here,” Poppy addressed the stubborn cat.

“Who?” Severus croaked from his bed.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, Severus. It’s Mrs. Norris. She keeps finding her way into the infirmary.”

“Argus? Here?” Severus questioned.

“No, he’s not. I am so sorry, Severus. Argus didn’t make it. A wall collapsed on him when he was trying to get the youngest children to safety.” Poppy knew that the potions master and the caretaker had forged an odd friendship over the years. “Do you think she keeps coming here because she’s trying to find him?”

“No…protection…” Severus slurred, the very act of speaking draining his limited reserves. The dark wizard dropped back into an uneasy sleep.

Protection? Poppy wondered if the cat was trying to protect Harry, or if the cat expected Harry to protect her?

Leaving the feline to her nest, Poppy went into her bedroom, leaving the door ajar. She’d worry about the cat’s strange behavior in the morning.

~*~*~*~*~  
Propped up by a wedge of pillows, Severus read a letter bearing a Ministry of Magic seal. It was an official Ministry notice, with a personal note from Kingsley at the bottom. The letter informed him that the Wizengamot would be scheduling war crimes trials in the near future and that, due to the current critical state of his health, he could possibly be tried in absentia - if he survived. The letter also stated that, due to issues raised in his Pensieve memories, the newly appointed Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and an agent or agents from the Auror Corps would be visiting him for further investigative discovery. He was reminded that his cooperation in the inquiry, as well as any information he could provide against other persons of interest, would go a long way in aiding his defense.

Kingsley’s postscript provided the slimmest sliver of hope. 

_Keep your bloody sarcasm in check and maybe I can keep your scrawny arse out of Azkaban._

~*~*~*~*~  
Hermione was, once again, reading the fantasy novel to the unresponsive Harry. Despite himself, Severus found himself enjoying the Muggle version of the magical world it portrayed. In this chapter, the hobbit found himself matching wits with a treasure hoarding dragon to secure a stolen dwarvish heirloom. 

Knowing that the younger witch was mature and reliable, Poppy left the infirmary for a few minutes to share a much-needed cup of tea with Minerva and Filius.

When she reached the end of the chapter, Hermione set the novel aside. She began to tell Harry about her day, filling him in on the progress she was making repairing the destroyed books in the Hogwarts Library. She was very selective on what and who she talked about, steering clear of any news that may be distressful.

Ron entered the infirmary, a scowl on his freckled face. After discovering Harry had been rendered a Squib, he rarely visited, and seldom stayed more than a few minutes when he did. The redhead stalked across the room, not even deeming Severus important enough for a glance. He barely missed stepping on Mrs. Norris’ tail.

“This has gone on long enough, Hermione. You need to stop wasting all your time here. It’s not like Harry’s going to know you’re here or not.”

“How can you say that, Ronald? He’s our friend. Just because he’s asleep doesn’t mean he should be left alone.”

The pair began a heated argument in hushed tones. Trapped as he was and not really wanting to witness the train wreck he knew would follow, Severus attempted to ignore the whispered quarrel, but the words - ignoring me, baseless jealously, waste of time, unreasonable, getting Fred killed, and immature idiot - caught his attention. Ron’s blundering attempt at issuing ultimatums struck Severus as an especially foolish move, and he feared the fight would escalate. Frustrated by her refusal to see reason, Ron roughly pulled his girlfriend out of the chair, barely looking at his supposed best friend.

“He’s already dead, Hermione. His body just doesn’t know it yet.”

Stunned by the callousness of the statement, the witch and potions master just stared at the tall wizard. Severus heard the slap and then saw Hermione run from the room, tears streaming down her cheeks. Rubbing his jaw, Ron slowly followed her out the door.

Mrs. Norris stood on Harry’s bed and hissed. Severus found himself agreeing with the furball.

~*~*~*~*~  
And then Harry woke up.

~*~*~*~*~  
**_Just Harry_**

‘How is this possible?’ Harry wondered as he stared blearily up at the ceiling. Even without his glasses, he recognized the Hogwarts infirmary and he didn’t know why he was there. The last thing he remembered was the Avada green of the killing curse impact his chest before his world turned black.

Why wasn’t he dead?

~*~*~*~*~  
A hooded figure entered the infirmary and approached his bed. The figure first appeared to be a dementor to Harry’s unfocused eyes, but when he did not feel the temperature drop or relive the last moments of his mother’s life, Harry realized the figure was something equally as terrifying. An Unspeakable.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Unspeakable Croaker brusquely explained that a magical backlash occurred when the Horcrux in Harry’s scar was destroyed, absorbing Harry’s magical core in its wake. Harry listened with growing horror as Croaker described eighteen days of diagnostic scans and tests that revealed no improvement in the initial readings and that his magical level read somewhere between that of a Muggle and that of a Squib.

“Why am I still alive?” Harry asked, knowing a wizard didn’t usually survive the sudden loss of his magic. “I took a killing curse straight to the chest.”

“You and the snake are the only known examples of a living Horcrux, and the snake was beheaded, so our research is preliminary at best.” Croaker tucked his hands into his voluminous sleeves, the effect making him appear even more dementor-like. 

“On the night your parents were murdered, you were two years old…”

“Fifteen months.” Harry corrected and Croaker gave a brief nod.

“At fifteen months a child’s magical core is still forming and is immature. We think that Riddle’s soul jar must have overpowered your infant-sized core and absorbed your magic. It was not strong enough to take over your physical body, so the Horcrux became a magical parasite. In the most basic terms, you lived for years with two beings inhabiting a single body. When the Avada Kedavra engulfed you, Lady Magic claimed the abomination in payment, leaving you behind.”

“Is there any chance my magic will regenerate now that the Horcrux is gone?”

“It is doubtful, Mr. Potter, but we in the Department of Mysteries would be amenable to further investigation.”

‘Hell, no,’ Harry thought as Croaker glided over to Poppy for a brief conversation. There was no way he would willingly draw the additional scrutiny of the Ministry of Magic. He had already spent too many years as a bug beneath their magnifying glass. 

Once Croaker left the infirmary, Poppy approached Harry’s bed with a mug of hot chocolate. He held the mug in his hands but did not drink it. For what wasn’t the first time, Harry wondered about the state of magical medicine. Apparently hot chocolate was considered the magical cure-all for anything from a dementor attack to a hangnail, but Harry doubted it could in any way remedy his current condition.

“Do you need anything, Mr. Potter?” Poppy asked gently. She wished there was something she could do to change the young man’s bleak future, but eighteen days of Croaker and Smethwyck’s experiments showed there was little hope of a miraculous recovery.

“Do you know where my glasses are? I can’t see much of anything without them.”

“I don’t remember seeing them, but in all the chaos after the final battle, they may have been misplaced. If they don’t turn up, I can provide you with a temporary replacement. Do you need anything else?”

“Yes. Please don’t tell anyone that I am awake. I’d like to be alone for a while.” 

Poppy’s heart broke, seeing the shattered expression on the poor child’s face. She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, and then walked away.

~*~*~*~*~  
Harry curled up in his bed, trying to come to terms with the loss of his magic. It just didn’t seem fair that, once again, he had paid such a steep price for victory and the Wizarding community, many who had kept their heads in the sand and refused to get involved, were free to celebrate in the streets. He tried to tell himself not to be so petty, that so many others had died, but his pain was still too raw to feel grateful that he had even survived.

The mattress gave a slight bounce as the weight of a cat landed at the foot of the bed. Instead of curling up in her nest as she typically did, the feline decided to investigate her bedmate now that he was finally awake.

Yellow met green as they stared at one another. The usually standoffish cat rubbed her head against the palm of Harry’s hand and began to purr. Emotionally and physically drained and too depressed to even wonder why unfriendly Mrs. Norris was acting so out of character, Harry tentatively ran his fingers down her sleek coat. 

Losing his fight to keep his emotions in check, tears began to blur his vision. Welcoming her unexpected comfort and support, Harry cradled Mrs. Norris to his chest as sobs caused his shoulders to shake.

Helpless to do anything constructive, Severus and Poppy watched as Harry eventually cried himself to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~  
The soft early light began to fill the infirmary as Harry walked back from using the loo. After a fortnight of bed baths and freshening charms, he was looking forward to taking an actual bath or shower once he gained permission from Poppy. His hair felt disgusting.

Mrs. Norris’ tail wound around one of his ankles and, once again, he wondered at her newfound attachment to him. He had assumed Argus Filch was also bedridden, but a quick glance around the room revealed that only two beds were occupied, and the second bed held Professor Snape.

Harry stopped before one of the large leaded glass windows and examined the diamond-shaped panes. In all the times he had been a patient over the years, he had never truly paid any attention to the windows. The morning light caught the jewel tones of the stained-glass panes and caused the waves and air bubbles in the centuries-old transparent diamonds to sparkle. Admiring the deep hues, he wondered what was added to clear glass to turn it cobalt blue, royal purple or emerald green.

Grateful for the eyeglasses Poppy conjured, Harry looked through the window onto the school grounds and the Forbidden Forest beyond. He could see the charred remains of Hagrid’s cottage and the fields of debris scattered everywhere. They must be focusing on repairs to the interior of the school, Harry decided. There was no way all the repairs and clean-up would be complete in time for the school to reopen in September.

Not as if it would matter to him, Harry thought. He was never going to be a student again. He was never going to sit his NEWTs, and he was never going to become an Auror, or anything else in the magical world.

Harry crawled into his bed, turned his back on the colorful windows, and contemplated his future.

~*~*~*~*~  
Harry was exhausted and irritated. He had finally been given permission to take his much-needed shower and quickly discovered it had sapped much more of his energy reserves than expected. He changed into a clean hospital nightshirt and was in the process of towel-drying his hair when the infirmary door burst open, ruining his hope for a restful day.

Poppy was less than pleased when Kingsley, Unspeakable Croaker, and a wizard, identified as Auror Smith, arrived unannounced, intending to begin interrogations before she had even completed her morning medical scans.

The mediwitch put her foot down the minute Smith attempted to force Severus from his bed. Just because Severus and Harry were awake, it did not mean that their medical states were not still quite fragile. Veritaserum, Poppy informed them, would not and could not be used on either patient, but Severus could provide one or two Pensieve memories if it wasn’t too physically taxing. They would not be permitted to use any magic on Harry at all. Due to the catastrophic collapse of Harry’s magical core, he no longer had the magic essential to give Pensieve memories and the ingestion of Veritaserum was often fatal to those with no magic.

Because Ministry officials had previously questioned Severus, the trio decided that they would speak with Harry first, to see if he corroborated some of the potions master’s information. As the investigators wanted to keep the pair separate, a curtain was drawn around Severus’ bed and he was enveloped in a Silencing Charm.

Harry didn’t mind talking with Kingsley, and Croaker made him more than a little nervous, but Smith immediately set him on edge. Whether it was because Smith was acting like an entitled Pureblood who had stepped in something unpleasant, or because Smith was acting as if he thought Harry’s magic-less state was somehow contagious, Harry was immediately on the defensive.

There seemed to be two prongs to the Ministry investigation. Croaker delved into the discovery and destruction of the Horcruxes, the Chamber of Secrets, Parseltongue, Thomas Marvolo Riddle, and the elusive Sword of Gryffindor. He took special note that Harry’s trademark lightning bolt scar was actually healing, a basic paste of Dittany and Murtlap causing it to fade as a normal scar would.

Kingsley and Smith seemed to want to know a little bit of everything relating to Harry’s life. Harry was asked about everything from his bouts of accidental magic as a child to his numerous interactions with the man who called himself Lord Voldemort. He was questioned about the Tri-Wizard Tournament, the murder of Cedric Diggory and the ritual used to resurrect the Dark Lord. He was queried about the activities of a host of witches and wizards, many – but not all – suspected of being Death Eaters. They questioned him _ad nauseam_ about his interactions and impressions of Albus Dumbledore, Quirinus Quirrell, Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, Severus Snape, Dolores Umbridge, Cornelius Fudge, Bellatrix Lestrange and a number of names he did not recognize.

The questioning went on for several hours, the Quick-Quotes Quills filling rolls and rolls of parchment. Harry’s energy was flagging and, just when he thought the interrogation was finally ending, they began to ask the same questions in different ways, to see if his facts wavered, to see if they could catch him in a lie.

Harry was trying to keep his temper in check, but when Smith suddenly declared that Poppy’s refusal to permit the use of Veritaserum on the Squib was obstruction, and that even if it could be fatal, death would be preferable anyway. The line was finally crossed, and Harry just shut down. He refused to answer another question as long as the sanctimonious inbred bastard remained in the room.

Harry soon found himself cocooned behind the Silencing Charm with a mug of Dreamless Sleep infused hot chocolate in his hands. The Ministry trio shifted their questioning to Severus.

As the bone-weary Harry drifted off to sleep, he wondered if his answers had helped or hindered Severus in his defense.

~*~*~*~*~  
Harry flipped through a pile of discarded back issues of the _Daily Prophet_ , deliberately not reading any of the articles until he found the information he was searching for. It was a Special Edition with the _Daily Prophet_ banner draped in black bunting. 

Page after page listed names of the dead. On page two, fifth name down in the center column, he found it.

_Argus Filch, age unknown, Caretaker, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Poor Mrs. Norris, Harry thought. She had lost her human, her home, and her sense of security. 

Had the grumpy housecat attached herself to Harry because he was the only other non-magical being in the school?

~*~*~*~*~  
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Severus suddenly asked, breaking the silence of the infirmary. Two beds away, Harry had been scribbling something on a piece of parchment, a pensive expression on his face. Severus was curious, tired of being confined to his bed and, frankly, bored out of his skull.

“I’m fine, Professor.” Harry gave him a quizzical look, surprised the dour man was initiating a conversation.

“Don’t take me for an idiot, Potter. You are not fine, and you know it. But that’s not what I asked you.”

“No. I am not fine…but I am alive.” Harry met the dark eyes. “We are both alive.”

“And I must thank you for that.” Severus took a sip of water.

“Looks like Smethwyck’s new potion is working. Your throat is finally starting to heal. Going to leave a nasty scar though.” Harry sat up, dangling his bare feet off the mattress. “And I’m trying to figure out what my options are. I guess the first thing I need to do is discover if I am still _persona non grata_ with the goblins…If I’m now destitute, my limited options are even worse.”

“It’s difficult to know what a goblin will do. On one hand, you robbed a vault and stole a dragon, which makes you a thief. But first and last, goblins are a warrior race, and you did destroy several Horcruxes and end a dark lord…Which makes you a warrior in their eyes.”

“But I didn’t end him. Neville did.”

“You both destroyed the Dark Lord. Neither one of you idiots could have fulfilled that damned prophesy on your own.”

~*~*~*~*~  
Mrs. Norris sauntered into the infirmary and leapt up onto Harry’s bed. She presented him with the gift of a small, dead sparrow.

“You’ve made a friend,” Severus said, dryly.

“Apparently,” Harry replied.

~*~*~*~*~  
“It’s all bollocks!” Neville raged as he tossed that morning’s edition of the _Daily Prophet_ onto the bed between Harry and Severus. He had an armful of freshly-cut flowers to refresh the bouquets he had been bringing into the infirmary all along. 

Severus and Harry looked up from their breakfast trays and shared a look. Since Neville was helping Pomona repair the greenhouses, he often stopped in for a short visit before spending the day gardening.

“I don’t know how you put up with the _Prophet’s_ lies all these years, Harry. I asked Grandmother if we could sue them for defamation, but she says it’s no use.”

Neville ruthlessly plucked wilting flowers and greenery stems from the vases. Harry’s role as _The Chosen One_ had quickly been relegated to second tier news as Neville became the Wizarding World’s unwilling darling - _The-Man-Who-Conquered_ , _The Hero of Hogwarts_ , or Harry’s personal favorite, _The-Boy-Who-Beheaded_.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, Nev?”

Harry could sense something was really bothering his usually unflappable friend. Neville was never violent with his plants, not even when he was weeding.

Severus wandlessly Accioed the newspaper. As he read the headline, he understood Longbottom’s fury.

“Potter, you’d better look at this.” Severus held up the newspaper. In bold, capitalized letters the headline read:  
_THE BOY-WHO-LIVED-TO-BE-A-SQUIB?_

“Oh, fuck,” Harry muttered, and Severus agreed with the sentiment.

~*~*~*~*~  
Harry paced in front of the windows. Beyond the glass he could see a flurry of post owls trying unsuccessfully to deliver mail to him. He assumed most of the letters would be get well wishes from total strangers, or letters from present and former classmates, but seeing the red envelopes clutched in numerous talons made him grateful Poppy had charmed the infirmary against direct mail delivery.

“The sad thing is, I’m not even surprised by the Howlers.” Harry walked away from the window. He scooped up Mrs. Norris, who was perched on a window sill, hissing at the birds.

“How far do you think I can walk down Diagon Alley before I get hexed? Thanks to the fucking newspaper, every witch or wizard with a complaint is going to want a piece of me. Fickle bastards.”

“You know you can stay at Hogwarts. Minerva will provide you with sanctuary.”

“I know she would, Professor, but I just can’t stay here.” Harry cradled the cat in his arms, no longer second guessing the comfort they both derived from it. “If I stay here, surrounded by children learning the wonders of magic, I will turn as bitter as poor Mr. Filch.”

“The Weasleys…”

“That would never work.” Harry replied, bluntly.

“How so? When you lived with the mutt at Grimmauld, Molly acted like you were an eighth Weasley sprog. Why wouldn’t it work?”

“He’s already dead, Hermione. His body just doesn’t know it yet.” Harry mimicked Ron’s voice, down to his accent.

“You heard that?” Severus was stunned. “But you were unconscious.”

“Yeah, I heard that. I heard a few other things as well.”

“What else do you remember hearing?” Severus was curious. At the time, he hadn’t believed Hermione telling them coma patients often remembered conversations, and neither had the healers from St. Mungo’s.

“Spells in a language I didn’t know – so probably Croaker and Smethwyck – and also the adventures of one Bilbo Baggins.” Harry gave Severus a brief glance. “I know Ron was being a git, but the thing is, the Weasleys do not feel comfortable around me anymore. When I first met Ron on the Hogwarts Express, I asked him if all his family was magical and he told me yes – all except a cousin of his mother who was an accountant, but they didn’t talk about him. If they would casually reject a blood relative for being a Squib, why would they want me underfoot?” 

Harry gave the other man a wry smile. “And if you noticed, Ginny, who has professed herself to be my girlfriend for years, has not stepped one foot in this room.”

Severus realized Harry was right. There did seem to be a dearth of Weasleys in the room.

“Neville’s invited me to stay at Longbottom Manor and I’m sure one or two of those owls out there carry offers of shelter as well.”

“Miss Granger?”

“Hermione’s leaving soon to go to Australia to bring her parents home. She was supposed to travel with Ron, but they’re fighting again. I think this break might be permanent. She did ask me if I wanted to go with her instead, but after spending months on the run and sharing a small tent, I really think we need some time apart.”

~*~*~*~*~  
In anticipation of her trip to Australia, Hermione finally emptied her bottomless beaded handbag and sorted out the items by owner. Remnants of their months-long Horcrux hunt, such as their camping equipment and stray bits of clothing, would be stored in the Gryffindor Common Room, and she told Harry to go through it once he felt stronger. 

She and Dean Thomas, her unexpected travel companion, stopped in for a quick visit and a friendly hug or two before they caught an International Portkey to Australia. She was still on the outs with Ron, and with Harry in no condition to travel, easygoing Dean invited himself along. Harry was glad because no one wanted Hermione to travel half way around the world alone.

~*~*~*~*~  
Harry’s possessions barely filled the canvas grocery bag.

~*~*~*~*~  
Harry held his broken holly and phoenix feather wand in his hands, knowing that even if the wand had not snapped in Godric’s Hollow, it still would not have responded to him. He softly sighed. He missed the thrum of magic he felt every time he held his wand.

He gently placed it on his bedside table.

Without opening it, Harry placed his beloved photo album into the bedside table drawer beside the tattered Marauder’s Map and his neatly folded Invisibility Cloak. There were some small trinkets in the bag that he probably would bin, and he would need to decide if he had any need for the books and parchment. 

Finally, he pulled out a knitted jumper, a Weasley jumper, and stared at it. The pain of their silence bubbled up inside him. He roughly shoved the once beloved jumper back in the bag and tossed it beneath the bed.

~*~*~*~*~  
Severus looked up as he heard Harry throw the canvas bag, not truly surprised by the young man’s actions. Years of being Slytherin’s Head of House had taught him to pay close attention to his students’ emotional states and to attempt intervention before a small issue exploded into something much larger.

In Severus’ opinion, Harry was acting much too calm for someone who had had their entire world pulled out from under them. These weeks of proximity opened Severus’ eyes, and he now saw his previous misconceptions about a spoiled, arrogant, miniature James Potter fade. This Harry Potter was abandoned and adrift, and Severus thought, had probably felt that way for years.

“How are you holding up, Potter?” Severus set aside the potions journal he had been reading.

“Sorry my tantrum disturbed you, Professor,” Harry replied, exhaling sharply. “I’ll try to keep myself in check.”

“Would it help if you talked about it?”

Who was this man and what had he done with the dungeon bat? Harry shot him a look of confusion, and then a look of understanding crossed his features.

“Riiiggghhhtttt…Head of House…up to his knees in teenaged angst.” Harry fiddled with the hem of his nightshirt, pulling it over his bony knees to cover them. “You do realize I never enjoyed all _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ shite, right?”

“I have come to realize I was mistaken on that…That I was mistaken on a great many things.”

Harry knew how much it must have cost the wizard to admit that. He looked over at the other man and wondered if he could use the man as a sounding board. For all the professor’s faults, prejudices, and the years of unwarranted animosity, Severus had tried to protect him on many occasions and had never really lied to him.

“I know you won’t believe me, but I’m coming to the realization that the loss of my magic may actually be a good thing.”

Severus looked at him sharply but did not interrupt.

“What has magic ever done for me but bring pain? My life was stolen from me the moment that prophesy came out of Trelawny’s mouth. Magic murdered my parents and magic made me the vessel of a mad man. Magic turned my sorrow into a fairytale.

“For years, I tried to get my aunt to love me, but her blind hatred of anything magical meant that I would never be anything but an unwanted freak, a hated reminder of a dream she could never have.

“And then, at the age of eleven, I finally learn the name for my freakishness. I finally find out all the strange things that kept happening to me, things I would be severely punished for, were caused by accidental magic…accidental magic that was usually triggered by episodes of abuse. And wasn’t that a happy little circle?”

Harry smiled bitterly. Voicing his resentment was having a cathartic effect.

“I like Hagrid, I really do, but he never should have been my introduction to the magical world. I walked blindly into the myth of _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ and all the shrapnel that it entailed. Witches and wizards, yourself included, bought into a fantasy character that never existed. Tried to hold me to a standard I could never hope to achieve.

“All my life, I’ve tried to be someone I’m not. All I’ve ever wanted was to find a place to belong, find a place to be me. All I’ve ever wanted to be is just Harry. And that’s the one person no one ever let me be.” Tirade over, Harry closed his eyes.

Severus contemplated Harry’s words, realizing how deeply Harry had been damaged by the magical world.

Mrs. Norris, sensing Harry’s distress, climbed into his lap for a cuddle. After a few moments of petting her soft fur, Harry began to speak again, his voice much calmer.

“I won’t lie to you, Professor. I will miss my magic.”

“What do you think you will miss the most?” 

Severus was curious to hear Harry’s response. Trapped in a bed with nothing much to do but think, he had already asked himself the same question. What would he miss the most if or when he was sent to Azkaban and his magic was bound?

“It’s not the grand spells I will miss. It will be all the little things.”

“Such as?”

“I’ll miss _Lumos_ when the room is dark, _Accio_ when I’ve misplaced something, _Occulus Repario_ when I’ve broken my glasses once again, and _Tempus_.” Harry laughed. “The first thing I’ll need to do is purchase a wristwatch. Without _Tempus_ in my life, I’ll never know what time it is.”

~*~*~*~*~  
Severus awoke the next morning to find Poppy and Minerva deep in conversation. Harry was not in his bed and, as far as the house-elves could determine, was no longer in Hogwarts at all.

The canvas bag was missing, and Harry’s bedside table drawer was empty. The Weasley jumper was neatly folded in the middle of the bed, the pieces of Harry’s broken holly wand lying on top of it.

As Severus sat up, he noticed the novel, _The Hobbit_ , sitting on his own bedside table. There was a square of parchment sticking out of the middle of the book. He picked up the book and extracted the parchment.

On one side of the sheet, there was a small pen and ink drawing of a plant he immediately recognized – Asphodel. The tall spike of flowers was resting in a bed of wormwood leaves.

Severus turned the sheet over and read the short note.

_So you’ll know how the story ends._

~*~*~*~*~  
And it was days before anyone realized Mrs. Norris was missing as well.

~*~*~*~*~  
**TWO**  
**_Ten Years Following the Battle for Hogwarts_**

Severus strode through the darkened hallways of Hogwarts, looking for students out of bed. It was a few minutes before midnight on the Tenth Anniversary of the Battle for Hogwarts. As few of the current students were old enough to remember the horror that had occurred a decade before, they had been in a celebratory mood all week.

Even after all the years, Severus could still see the signs of battle etched in many of the ancient walls. There were areas that had seen so much destruction, they needed to be rebuilt from the ground up, and their lack of age felt alien to him.

The castle was as silent as it should be when most of the occupants were asleep, but tonight he could take no comfort in the silence. Headmistress McGonagall and the senior staff were offsite, attending a Tenth Anniversary Gala at the Ministry of Magic. Obviously as a war criminal and _The-Wizard-Who-Assassinated-Dumbledore_ , he had not been invited, but even if he had, Severus would not have attended. It seemed to be sacrilegious to celebrate the deaths of so many children.

Severus’ boot heels made a soft click as he climbed another staircase. He was on edge and his mind would not settle. He kept walking, trying to tire himself out enough to fall asleep without resorting to potions.

He stopped abruptly. A soft light flickered from the Trophy Room. The room, long celebrating academic and athletic achievements, had been expanded to contain a memorial remembering those who perished in the defense of Hogwarts. 

Someone had better have a damn good reason for being out of bounds on this most painful date, he thought.

Severus’s cape billowed menacingly as he stalked to the opened doorway. There would be a massive loss of House points in someone’s future and detention, if not outright expulsion.

~*~*~*~*~  
Neville knelt before the shrine of candles he had erected before the Wall of the Dead. Even after ten years, he could still remember the faces of many of those who died during the siege. Every name was listed, regardless of which side they fought on, and that had not been a popular decision. It still angered the Herbology professor that Vincent Crabbe’s name would sit between Lavender Brown and Colin Creevey for eternity.

A noise behind him had the former war hero drawing his wand before turning to greet the invader.

“Oh, it’s you,” Neville said, as he sheathed his wand. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

~*~*~*~*~  
“Shouldn’t you still be at the Ministry Gala, Longbottom?” Severus asked as the clock in the Hogwarts clock tower chimed twelve times. Thank Merlin this abominable day was finally over. “Weren’t you the guest of honor?”

“I didn’t go. How can anyone celebrate this?” Neville gestured at the names etched in the black marble slabs. The younger wizard took several steps and stood before a display case. Severus joined him.

Together they studied the contents of the glass case, which bore a plaque identifying the contents as _The Conquering Heroes – The Chosen Ones._ In both of their opinions, it was a damned stupid designation.

The case contained a photograph of Neville and Harry, both looking much the worse for wear, taken a few days prior to the final battle. It was one of the last photographs Colin shot prior to his death. On each side of the photograph was an Order of Merlin - First Class award, one of them awarded in absentia. Beneath Neville’s award lay a replica of a blood-covered Sword of Gryffindor and beneath Harry’s were the shattered remains of his holly wand.

Neville extinguished the candles in his makeshift shrine with a swish of his wand.

“I don’t know about you, Snape, but I could use a stiff drink. Care to join me?”

~*~*~*~*~  
Severus followed Neville into the office of the Gryffindor Head of House. He paused a few steps into the room. He had not been in the room since Minerva took on the mantle of Headmistress and moved into the tower.

Sitting in one of a pair of leather chairs placed in a small conversation area, Severus examined the room. Most of the larger pieces of furniture remained the same, and his bookcases overflowed, but Neville had added a plethora of live plants, so the room held a more welcoming appearance.

A sparkle of copper on the small mahogany table between the two chairs caught Severus’ attention. There was a half-sized Mimbulus Mimbletonia made from solid glass sitting on it. Severus examined the odd specimen. From a thick base of copper-colored glass, a replica of the lumpy, barreled Mimbulus Mimbletonia emerged, created in clear heavy glass shot through with spirals and tiny bubbles of copper. The Mimbulus Mimbletonia’s characteristic pustules had been created with tiny layers of copper, brown, orange, and black glass melted into disks.

“It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it?” Neville asked as he handed Severus a tumbler of whiskey.

“The detail is impeccable,” Severus was attempting to be diplomatic. “The subject matter, however, is a bit…”

“I’ll admit, it’s something only a herbologist would love,” Neville laughed. “At least I don’t have to clean up after it. Those pustules don’t explode.”

“A special commission?”

“I honestly don’t know. It was a birthday gift.”

Neville reached over to a bud vase sitting on his bookcase and handed Severus a bluish-purple iris. Severus glanced at the perfect bloom and then stared at it again. The iris flower, stem and leaves were all made of glass, the three petals flowing naturally from dark to light with the edges shaped to mimic an iris’s frills.

“It’s exquisite, isn’t it?” Neville carefully replaced the bud vase on his shelf. “The artisans who created my Mimbulus Mimbletonia also produced that. They’ve opened a glass shop on Diagon Alley. It’s called Whimsy.”

Severus rolled the tumbler between his palms, enjoying the unexpected normalcy of sharing a drink and conversation with a co-worker. If you had told him ten years ago that the co-worker would have been Neville Longbottom, he would have thought you befuddled.

“Are you prepared for the fallout you are going to receive because you boycotted the Ministry Gala? I’d imagine _The Prophet_ is going to be vicious.” Severus set his empty glass on the table.

“I have absolutely no desire to be the Ministry’s poster boy. As the Muggles say – been there, done that, got the tee shirt.” Neville stretched out his long legs. “I didn’t save the Wizarding world all by myself, so it’s all bollocks to me.

“And anyway… _The-Boy-Who-Beheaded_ wasn’t going to attend without _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ by his side.” The herbologist ‘s voice was uncharacteristically bitter. “Did you know…those bastards didn’t even bother to invite Harry?”

“You know where he is?” Severus straightened up in his seat. No one had known where Harry vanished all those years before, and all searches had proved fruitless.

“Yes.”

“Have you always known?”

“No. Not at first.” Neville sipped his whiskey. “I knew he didn’t plan to stay, but I was as blind-sided as everyone else when he disappeared without a word.”

“Where is he?”

“It’s not my place to tell. He’s finally happy and he’s found his place in the world. If he’s ready for you to know where he is, he’ll find a way to let you know.”

~*~*~*~*~  
“I have an appointment.”

The gargoyle at the base of the Headmistress’s tower stepped aside to permit him to pass. Even after all the years, it still caused a pang in his chest when he didn’t have to utter the name of a ridiculous-sounding Muggle sweet to gain entrance. He stepped onto the revolving staircase and let it carry him to the top.

Minerva gave Severus a tight smile. While always cordial, their friendship had never fully recovered from the horrible series of events a decade before. Even though Albus was already dying from the cursed ring and had apparently ingested a deadly poison during a failed Horcrux hunt with Harry, Severus had still been the one to cast the spell that ended his long life. Although Albus had ordered Severus to murder him as part of a greater plan the old goat never actually explained to anyone, Minerva still found it difficult to totally forgive the younger man.

Gone were the overstuffed floral chairs Albus favored, replaced by comfortable, if utilitarian, tartan wing chairs. Behind her, the wall of former headmasters and headmistresses pretended to sleep in their frames. At her request, Severus sank into one of the chairs and faced her large desk. A gentle breeze from an open window ruffled the papers on her desk, held in place by a heavy glass paperweight in a stylized interpretation of a reclining cat. Severus raised his eyebrow at the uncharacteristic new addition to her décor. Minerva had never been one to display trinkets.

“A Yule gift from Filius. If it wasn’t so useful, I’d have banished it like all the other feline ornaments I have received over the years. Tea?”

“Please,” Severus replied and then prepared the cup Minerva poured to his liking. “You wanted to see me?”

“I have received official notification from the Ministry of Magic regarding your House Arrest. Your sentence will be lifted as of the last day of classes.” Minerva handed over a thick envelope bearing the Ministry seal. “The terms of your subsequent probation should be in that packet.”

“Thank you, Minerva.” Severus set the envelope in his lap. He would need to examine all the paperwork closely once he returned to his rooms.

Kingsley had done his best to get Severus exonerated of all charges during the Wizengamot Death Eater trials due to corroborating evidence that Severus was acting as a spy, but the prevailing political atmosphere at the time could not permit the killer of Albus Dumbledore to walk totally free. After much debate, it was decided that the incarceration in Azkaban of one of Britain’s only surviving Potions Masters – First Class would be foolish to a community trying to rebuild from a devastating war. The Wizengamot determined Severus must serve a ten-year sentence under house arrest, to be carried out within the walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. During that time, he was ordered to brew potions for both the Hogwarts infirmary and St. Mungo’s, to help in the rebuilding of the school, and any other task the headmistress and school board might subsequently assign. If he broke any part of the agreement, the remainder of his sentence would be carried out in Azkaban.

“It doesn’t seem as if it has already been ten years to me, but to you, I’d imagine it feels an eternity.” Minerva sipped her tea. “Somewhere in that envelope is your ticket to freedom and I am certain you have given much thought to plans once you are permitted to leave the Hogwarts grounds. I only ask that you give Poppy as much notice as possible so that she can make arrangements to supply the infirmary.”

“While I will always be eternally grateful that you and the Hogwarts governors permitted me to serve out my sentence at the school and did not condemn me to Azkaban, I think we both know I have more than worn out my welcome here and that it is time for me to go. Unless the conditions of my parole state otherwise, I plan to leave shortly after the term ends. As Poppy and I have already discussed, I will fully stock the potions cabinets before I leave.”

~*~*~*~*~  
**_Diagon Alley_**

It was early in the morning when Severus ventured into Diagon Alley for the first time in more than a decade. The shops had not yet opened for the day, so his passage went unnoticed.

Thankfully Gringotts was nearly empty this time of day. He was able to approach the nearest teller and sign in for his meeting with Ironclaw, his account manager.

Severus was directed to a small waiting area until Ironclaw was available. Prior to leaving Hogwarts for what would probably be his final time, he had scheduled an appointment to check on the status of his vault. As time was money to the goblins, the wizard knew his wait would be brief.

On his way to one of the empty wooden benches, Severus noticed a display unlike anything he had ever seen in Gringotts before. There was a glass sculpture of a large dragon, built from three interlocking parts, and at least two meters long. Although stylized in design, the model was detailed enough that Severus determined it was a Ukrainian Ironbelly. Imbedded deep within the glass were clouds of fine grey and ribbons of iridescent black flakes.

“She is payment for a client debt.” Ironclaw’s voice was gruff, but Severus thought he detected a hint of amusement as well. It was hard to tell with goblins.

~*~*~*~*~  
Severus stepped out of Ironclaw’s office with copies of his latest vault statements and withdrawals in both Wizarding and Muggle currency. He slipped his vault key into a hidden pocket for safekeeping.

His ten-year incarceration had provided an unexpected dividend. Unable to leave the premises of the school, he had limited his owl ordered purchases to basic necessities, so the interest payments in his nearly dormant vault grew unhindered.

With frugal spending, he would be able to support himself while he tried to find employment. He did not hold out much hope that he’d be able to do anything about his social standing but hoped his academic credentials would open a door or two. Based on the sideways glances and outright glares of hatred, he began to prepare himself for a life of a social pariah.

As it was later in the morning, daylight flowed through the Gringotts skylights and the strange glass dragon glowed from within. It was beautiful and so out of place in the austere bank.

He refocused his attention on the growing crowds of witches and wizards as he began to walk down the bank steps to Diagon Alley. It wouldn’t do to be distracted lest he get a curse to the back. Even before the Second Wizarding War, he had polished the persona of an unmitigated bastard, so being the slayer of the great Albus Dumbledore wouldn’t have increased his popularity.

He could feel the crowd begin to close in as they recognized him. Deciding to walk down the alley had been a mistake. He should have Apparated the minute he left Gringotts. He had just been released from a ten-year sentence and he didn’t need an altercation to void his parole.

The growing volume of voices stilled as a wizard fell into step beside him. Afraid of an attack, Severus released his wand from its holster, but did not raise it. He quickly glanced to his left, to identify his companion.

“Longbottom?”

“Good morning, Snape.” Neville smiled pleasantly at the disgraced potions master, acting for all the world as though they were not surrounded by a mob in the center of the shopping district. The other man was holding his young son on his hip, his wand nowhere in sight.

The very presence of _The-Hero-of-Hogwarts_ carrying on a normal conversation with a known Death Eater seemed to cause most of the crowd to disperse. Neville Longbottom would certainly protect them from that dark wizard, so they were free to complete their own errands in safety.

Idiotic sheep.

“Guess I don’t need to ask how your first day in the real world is going.” Neville spoke, giving a not-so-casual glare at the thinning crowd.

“It’s going about as well as I expected.” Severus slid his wand back into its holster. “Are you following me?”

“Actually, no.” Neville laughed and adjusted his three-year-old son on his hip. “Frankie and I are going to pick up his mummy’s birthday present. I noticed you leaving Gringotts and thought I’d say hello.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, not necessarily believing in happenstance. But foolish Gryffindor or not, he did not believe Neville was idiotic enough to risk his heir’s safety in a street fight over a disgraced felon.

“Here we are.” Neville stopped in front of a tiny shop nestled between its larger neighbors. “Hannah just loves this shop.”

Severus looked up at the oval sign hanging above the doorway.

Whimsy.

~*~*~*~*~  
Severus wasn’t certain why he had followed Neville and his son into the glass shop, because unless he was looking for a gift, he did not have a need to purchase this sort of merchandise. But a thought kept niggling at him. Why was he suddenly noticing art glass at every turn? It could just be coincidence because the little shop was so popular, but maybe it was a sign. A sign of what, he didn’t know.

Whimsy was a very long and narrow space. It was not much wider than the display window and the front door. A display case holding small items and mirror-backed shelves holding taller objects ran the length of one wall. The facing wall held bins filled with handmade glass beads and sample products that could be made with them. Normally, beads would have no interest to him, but a collection of large, colorful beads caught Severus’ eye. The large beads were made in the Italian tradition of _millefiori_ or a thousand flowers.

While the clerk, a young witch with a distinct Italian accent, greeted Neville by name, Severus glanced at the paperweights and other small decorative items in the display case and knew that the name of the shop was appropriate. Whimsical creatures filled the cases but did not hold his attention.

As Neville paid for his purchase and exited the shop, Severus was examining the larger glass items on the shelves. He paid closer attention to a collection of single flowers similar to the iris Neville owned. At the end of the row, outshone by its more colorful neighbors, was a flowering stem. On an upright spike, with narrow leaves on its elongated stem, was a cluster of pink veined white funnel shaped flowers.

“Is that _Asphodelus albus_?” Severus asked as the clerk approached him.

“Yes, would you like to see it close up?” She gave him a delighted smile. Careful of the unopened buds at the top of the spike, she gently set the glass flower onto a padded velvet cushion.

Severus admired the details, but knew, with his uncertain future, he would never spend the many galleons required to own it.

“I will wrap it up for you.” The woman reached for a sheet of tissue paper.

“No, thank you. I am afraid it is beyond my present means.”

“No. You don’t understand, sir. The white asphodel is already yours.” 

Severus gave the woman a harsh look. If this was a new type of sales ploy, he was not buying into it.

“You don’t understand,” the woman repeated, looking earnestly at him. “This flower has sat on this shelf from the day Whimsy was opened. You are the first person to know what he was looking at. The artisan who created it asked that it be gifted to the first person who called the white asphodel by its proper name.”

~*~*~*~*~  
Severus sat in the dingy kitchen of his terrace house in Spinner’s End. The house had been a tip long before it had lain abandoned for a decade. He didn’t feel comfortable there. He knew he would have to find somewhere else to live. Too many ghosts in his past haunted the decrepit structure.

Carefully, he unwrapped the tissue paper protecting his unexpected gift. The name Whimsy was repeated in a silvery grey ink on the pale grey tissue. For the first time, Severus noted that instead of a dot above the “i” there was a solid grey circle containing the silhouette of a white owl in flight. A business card was tucked in between the layers of tissue paper. He held the card up to the light to read it.  
_White Owl Studios – Godric’s Hollow – Wales_  
_Classes and Tours Available Upon Request_

Severus ran his finger down a smooth glass petal and contemplated his future.

~*~*~*~*~  
**_Godric’s Hollow - Wales_**

The White Owl Studios were located on the outskirts of the village of Godric’s Hollow in what appeared to be a refurbished brick-walled factory. There was a crushed stone parking area that contained a few automobiles and a tour bus, surrounded by neatly cultivated garden beds. Behind the structure was a row of small white cottages and a series of flower and vegetable gardens.

Severus stepped into the gift shop, immediately noticing it held many of the same decorative items as did Whimsy in Diagon Alley. He noted that live demonstrations in the glass studio would begin in several minutes, so he paid a minimal price for a ticket.

He wasn’t sure if he was reading too much into it, but the asphodel flower was part of the lily family, and Lily had died in Godric’s Hollow. Somehow, he didn’t think it was coincidence.

~*~*~*~*~  
The tour group filed by thick glass windows that overlooked the various areas of the large open studio. Their guide, who identified herself as Skyla, paused in front of a woman holding a gas-powered torch over small slices of millefiori canes to heat them before attaching them with bent tweezers to a base rod of heated glass. Alternating between placing the multi-colored slices, heating and rolling onto a flat metal surface, the artisan slowly shaped the mosaic bead. 

The tour moved on before the bead was completed.

Skyla gathered them in front of the next panel of windows, informing them that they would be seeing the glassblowers. She went on to explain the different pieces of equipment from the furnace which contained crucibles of molten glass, a “Glory Hole” where artisans kept their work at temperatures of 1500 degrees Celsius/2,700 degrees Fahrenheit, ovens to keep blow pipes and shaping rods hot, steel topped tables where the glass was shaped, and an annealing oven to slowly cool down the completed work.

The woman’s words flowed over Severus as his attention was drawn to a man gathering molten glass on the end of a long steel pipe. Longish dark hair was gathered into a messy bun high on the back of his head, secured in place by what looked to be a pair of chopsticks. Wearing a wifebeater and cotton trousers, he had sweat glistening off his finely muscled arms and chest. His movements were measured and relaxed as he and his apprentice continued to reheat the glass, shape the glass and keep the glass in constant motion.

Like all the other glassmakers, he wore dark-tinted safety glasses, which obscured most of his features, but something in the shape of the jaw made Severus certain he had located the elusive Harry Potter.

Skyla was telling the group that Iago was going to add color to the piece by rolling the heated glass on his blow pipe across bits of colored glass in the form of powder, crushed glass or thin glass bars, picking up the fragments with each roll. Still turning the pipe to keep the glass in its shape, the man Severus identified as Harry and Skyla called Iago placed it back into the Glory Hole to fuse the colored bits to the clear glass.

The artisan and his apprentice began to shape the glass with water-soaked wooden ladles, forming a globe. He returned to the table holding the colored glass and picked up a second layer of crushed glass. Since the glass was red-hot, it was impossible to determine what would be its final color. Fusing the glass layers in the Glory Hole a second time and then adding a layer of clear glass, the pair began to shape the glass again.

Once satisfied with the shape, the apprentice began to blow into the pipe, causing the glass to expand as the artisan continued to form it. They began a slow process of blowing into the pipe to expand the glass, heating the glass back up to temperature, and then shaping the glass until it reached the desired size.

Skyla gathered the tourists up to move onto another demonstration further in the studio, but Severus and two women stayed behind, watching as the glass was transferred to another rod, and the actual opening of the piece began. They watched the globe slowly form into a large bowl. When the scorching hot bowl was complete, it was broken free from the rod and, with fire-proof gloves, carried into the annealing oven to cool down for at least twenty-four hours.

~*~*~*~*~  
Severus sat on a garden bench as he watched the tour bus pull away from White Owl Studios. The sun warmed his skin as he listened to glass wind chimes gently tinkle in the breeze. Idly, he wondered what kept the wind chimes from breaking in a strong breeze. 

Before the tour had ended, Severus approached Skyla and inquired if he could speak directly to the artisan with the bun about custom glass work. After several minutes, she returned, stating Iago would be able to see him in a half hour.

As Severus waited for the man who may or may not be Harry, he thought back to the demonstrations he had watched. There was something odd about the entire experience, but he couldn’t immediately place what felt off. His mind drifted back to the furnaces and then he knew what was strange about White Owl. Except for the gas-powered torch the beadmaker was using, every other piece of equipment – furnace, crucible, annealing oven – was run on electricity.

For all intents and purposes, White Owl was a Muggle glass factory. Would the art pieces sold at Whimsy still be so popular if their true origins became known?

And how did a Muggle business open a shop in Diagon Alley in the first place?

~*~*~*~*~  
The crunch of gravel signaled the artisan’s approach. The dark hair, released from the bun, tumbled over shoulders and cascaded down the man’s back. The sweat-drenched wifebeater clung to the firm muscles of his chest and back. Bright green eyes glittered in the sunlight. Severus had no doubts Harry Potter was standing before him.

“Iago Harford.” Harry extended his hand for Severus to shake.

“You’ve changed your name,” Severus replied as he grasped the proffered hand in a firm handshake. His father hadn’t taught him much that was useful, but he had taught him how to give a proper handshake.

“Actually, no. I transposed it.” Harry settled onto the bench and stretched out his legs, luxuriating in the cool breeze. “What do you know of the custom of True and Public naming ceremonies?”

“The True Name ritual was an ancient practice used by both Wizard and Muggle aristocracy as a form of protection. Only a few of the old families still practice the ritual.” Severus studied the adult Harry. 

“I wish I’d known about the practice when I was fourteen. Had I known my father performed the True Name ritual on me, I never would have been forced into the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Only my True Name is legally binding on a contract.” The tone in Harry’s voice was bitter.

“Your parents named you Iago? They named you after a Shakespearian villain?” Severus was amused.

“No, they named me for a Welsh king.” Harry smiled. “And Iago is a Welsh form of James.”

“You said you transposed your name…”

“Harford Iago Peverell Potter, at your service. My Public Name is no longer Harry James Potter, it is Iago Harford. I now answer to Iago, Hare or Harry. Viola and a few cheeky apprentices call me Signor Lepre. You are free to call me any of those names, Professor.”

“I have been no one’s professor for a decade. You may address me as Severus or Snape.”

“Thank you, Severus.”

“Who is Viola? Your wife?”

“Sorry, no wife - wrong gender. Viola is my house-elf.” Harry stood. “I am in desperate need of a shower and Viola will insist upon a light lunch. Please come to my cottage and you can ask me your questions while we break bread.”

~*~*~*~*~  
Severus waited in Harry’s sitting room for the other man to complete his shower. The sunlit room was decorated simply in a blend of antique and stark modern Muggle pieces. A few select glass sculptures and photographs adorned the space. 

A glass dragon had pride of place above the fireplace. It was a scale model of the Ukrainian Ironbelly he had seen displayed in Gringotts. At some point he would ask Harry about the dragon, but there were other questions he wanted answered first.

~*~*~*~*~  
“Grazie, Viola,” Harry said as a light meal suddenly appeared on the table. There was an antipasto plate and a cheese and fruit plate to share, as well as a loaf of fresh bread to be dipped into olive oil and herbs. The meal was accompanied by a tall glass of ice water for Harry and a glass of wine for Severus.

Severus thought he heard a giggle from somewhere in the small cottage.

“So, ask,” Harry said as he placed a slice of melon on his plate. “What do you want to know first? Why I escaped? How I escaped? Or where have I been hiding for the last ten years?”

“Based upon the meal and that you address your house-elf in Italian, I would imagine some of your time was spent in Italy.” Severus sampled a wedge of cheese.

“The island of Murano, specifically. Do you know where that is?”

“It’s an island of Venice. How did you end up there?”

“After I negotiated with the goblins, I requested a list of habitable family properties. On the list was a Peverell holding in Murano’s Magical Quarter. I needed to get away, to get my head straight, without interference from other people or institutions, no matter how benign their intentions.

“So that no one magical could track me, I took a Muggle airplane to Venice and then took a ferry to Murano. After decades of caring for an empty house, Viola was ecstatic to finally have a family to care for again, and frankly, I was in desperate need for someone to care for me.

“Initially, I hadn’t meant to stay for more than a few weeks. I had planned to travel Europe, but I fell in love with the island. I finally found a home.”

“How did you become a glassmaker? I realize the island is famous for their Venetian glass, but it seems an odd career choice.”

“I never actually intended to become a glassmaker. Many of the studios offer classes for a nominal fee, so I signed up to take a class. I made a paperweight. I signed up for another class and then another. No one knew me as anyone but a crazy rich Welshman who wanted to learn the art of glassmaking, so any offers I received were based on my talent and not political intrigue. Before long, I was learning techniques with individualized instruction and was offered an apprenticeship. I learned the basics and fell in love with the creative process. One year blended into another, and I suddenly discovered I had created my own future.

“I love Italy, and I’ve made some really dear friends, but I also wanted to return to the country of my birth.”

“I had forgotten you were born in Godric’s Hollow. How long have you been back?”

“Three…three- and one-half years. Although I still spend months in Murano every year.” Harry’s empty water glass refilled itself, and he softly smiled. Viola was keeping him well hydrated.

“The glass _Asphodelus albus_ in Whimsy?” Severus changed the direction of his questions. “Was it truly a gift for anyone knowing its name or was it meant as a message for me?”

“Yes. My clerk verified your identity with Neville first, but if, over the years, anyone else had identified the asphodel, they would have still received it as a gift, but there would have been no business card attached.”

“Did you first contact Longbottom using the Mimbulus Mimbletonia?”

“No, that actually was a commission from Hannah, his wife. Such an ugly little plant…” Harry shook his head.

“Who else knows where you are?”

“The goblins, obviously. Andromeda Tonks and my godson, Teddy, have always known where I was. They usually holiday with me in Italy during the winter to get away from the snow. Neville and Hannah. Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood, of course. And a few Weasleys…”

“Which Weasleys? I thought they rejected you.”

“Do you remember when I was drowning in a deluge of owls after _The Prophet_ announced my Squibhood? I actually read the ones that weren’t cursed. George, who still needed to climb out of his own pit of despair, immediately offered me sanctuary, as did Bill and Fleur. Even Charlie, who I barely knew, offered to whisk me away to Romania to heal. Since Percy is partnered with George in their Weasley Home Security Division, I am pretty sure he suspects. As for the others, I don’t know. For all I know, they think I died from core death.”

“Core death?” What idiocy was that, Severus wondered.

“Since no one has officially seen Harry Potter in over ten years, _The Daily Prophet_ periodically alludes to my demise every few years. Their last speculation is that I gradually faded due to core death. Gringotts, of course, will not comment on the state of my vaults.”

“About Gringotts and the goblins…”

“Yes?” Harry pushed his plate away. Working in the oppressive heat of the studio often made it difficult to eat.

“What is the story about the glass dragon in the bank? My account manager seemed to find it amusing.”

“He would,” Harry admitted. “What do you know about the Horcrux Bellatrix Lestrange placed in her Gringotts vault?”

“I know you broke into the bank and stole it. You also destroyed part of the bank retrieving it, but the goblins were fairly closed lipped about that.”

“Hermione, Ron and I escaped on the back of the Ukrainian Ironbelly that guarded the lower vaults. Poor thing had been kept prisoner down there for so long she was nearly blind. I know we took out the atrium skylight, but I’m not sure what else was destroyed in her climb to freedom. Frankly, I was just trying to hold on.

“The goblins demanded her return, but that was never going to happen. We left her on the side of a lake to rest. Charlie told me she was later rescued by dragonriders from the Welsh Dragon Reserve, although the reserve is not letting outsiders in to check.”

“You said you negotiated with the goblins. If it’s not too personal, what did you negotiate?”

“Before I disappeared, I met with Twistknife, my account manager, Ragnok and several others. I needed to know that, as a Squib, I could still access my vaults, and more importantly, I had to secure the vaults for my heir, Teddy.”

“They had every right to kill you outright.”

“They could have,” Harry agreed, simply. “You once told me that you never know how a goblin is going to think, and you were right. Ragnok did actually acknowledge me as a fellow warrior and felt that the loss of my magic was punishment enough. To help defray the cost of some of the repairs, I relinquished a few goblin-made weapons stored within the Potter and Black vaults. Liking my head attached to my shoulders, I did not argue with them at all. But before a teller would let me leave with my new vault keys and a large monetary withdrawal, the teller insisted that I provide him with another Ukrainian Ironbelly.

“Since at that point, I had no magic, I signed a contract using my former Public Name. I promised to give him a Ukrainian Ironbelly before I could return to the British Isles.” Harry gave a devilish smile.

“What am I missing? You were a fool to sign that contract.”

“The contract stated Harry Potter had to give him a Ukrainian Ironbelly, so, Harry Potter gave him a Ukrainian Ironbelly.”

“You’re insane.” Severus smirked, and then his amusement erupted into laughter. Harry had beaten the greedy goblin at his own game. Goblins were notorious for twisting loopholes out of contracts and this goblin had somehow been strung up in his own loophole.

Severus stood up and walked over to the scale model of the dragon. The contract, already void because Harry could only sign contracts using his True Name, had obviously not specifically demanded a living, breathing creature, or any creature at all.

“How angry was the teller when he realized he’d been bested?”

“Oh, he was livid, but I wasn’t fool enough to present it to him without giving Ragnok and Twistknife a heads up. According to them, the goblin teller who wrote the contract was acting above his station, and in his arrogance, had not submitted the contract to his supervisors for their prior approval. That a Squib, a mere child in their eyes, had subverted the weak wording and bested him…” Harry shrugged.

“What happened to the goblin?”

“I’d imagine his head is on a spike somewhere within the bowels of the bank,” Harry replied, emotionlessly. “And my glass dragon is on permanent display as a reminder to the rest of the horde.”

Harry’s lack of remorse was telling, Severus thought.

“This dragon has the same swirls and ribbons in the glass as the one in Gringotts. What makes it do that?”

“You can create many effects by layering color powders and ground glass. In the case of the dragons, I didn’t use colored glass at all. I ground a Ukrainian Ironbelly eggshell to a fine powder for the grey and coarsely ground a Ukrainian Ironbelly scale for the black glitter. I also experimented with a dragon claw, but it didn’t react well to the heat, so I didn’t end up using it.

“And I made a third dragon as well. It’s in the Welsh Dragon Reserve as a thank you for the egg and scales they gave me.”

Severus pondered over the risk Harry had taken with the goblins, and then the wording Harry used earlier in the conversation played in his mind.

“Wait a minute. Earlier you said: ‘since at that point, I had no magic.’ What did you mean by that?”

“Later,” Harry said as he picked at a piece of cheese. Even though he was not particularly hungry, he knew Viola worried when he didn’t eat. “I’ve answered your questions. It’s time you answered a few of mine.”

~*~*~*~*~  
**_Second Chances_**

Severus leaned back in his chair and waited for Harry’s first question. How Slytherin of the green-eyed menace to hold his further inquiries hostage.

“Have you fully recovered from Nagini’s bite? It was still festering when I last saw you, but I don’t see any scarring.”

“She missed my larynx and all the major veins and arteries in my neck, so the visual damage was purely cosmetic. You don’t see a scar because I am wearing a light glamour, but only because I am in the Muggle world, otherwise I wouldn’t bother.” Severus had made it a point over the years to never hide the disfiguring scars to those he was trapped in the school with. He didn’t care if it made them squeamish. He would wear his battle scars with pride. “As far as the venom, it has not shown any obvious side effects, but Unspeakable Croaker and Healer Smethwyck have both cautioned me against milking any venomous creatures on my own. I may have built up a resistance to anti-venom.” Unconsciously, Severus rubbed the hidden scar on his neck.

“Other than brewing potions for St. Mungo’s and Poppy, what else were you required to do?”

“In the early days, I did not have much stamina, so I assisted Irma Pince in the Library. Before the Carrows were driven from Hogwarts, they gutted the Restricted Section and sent the remaining library bookcases tumbling. Tens of thousands of books needed to be resorted by subject matter and assessed for damage.”

“Did you work well together?” Did she treat him with hatred and distain like everyone else was Harry’s unasked question.

“Irma and I share a respect for books and the knowledge they contain. She has always been apolitical, viewing herself as a guardian of knowledge. Albus’ tendency to order the removal of books containing information he determined was too dark or against his personal beliefs was a bit of a long-festering wound for her. So, to your unasked question, in the beginning, Irma was one of the only staff members that would even acknowledge me.”

Good, Harry thought. It was nice to hear he had had a little support.

“Were you involved in the general clean up of the castle? She looked a right mess the last time I saw her.”

“By the time I was well enough to leave the infirmary, most of the removal of debris was completed and the reconstruction had begun.” Severus sat down again. “Don’t believe most witches and wizards when they brag about rebuilding Hogwarts. The bulk of the clean up was actually carried out by the house-elves, and the specialty trades were brought in for repairs and restorations. The only exception was the greenhouses, gardens and lawns. Pomona, Hagrid and Longbottom corralled volunteers for that.”

“Neville told me you were banned from teaching, but were you permitted to tutor?”

“I was banned from all interaction with the students for the most part. Parents who requested my services to tutor their little dunderheads in Potions or Defense were turned down. Other than patrolling the halls after curfew, I had little contact with either students or staff. I was not even permitted to dine in the Great Hall with them.”

“It seems a foolish waste of a valuable resource. There are very few wizards with masteries in both Defense and Potions.”

“The Ministry and School Governors didn’t want to subject their innocent minds to a Death Eater and a murderer. But other than at the NEWT level, I never really enjoyed teaching that much, so the ban was not the hardship they thought it would be.”

“Have you managed to devote much time to potions research?”

“In theory, yes, but in practice, no. I was banned from ordering any potion ingredients on my own, so nothing could be for my personal use. All the ingredients I received to brew for the hospital and infirmary were provided for me. I was not even permitted to contest the quality of the specimens they provided. Only Longbottom let me select my own ingredients from the greenhouses, and that was done without Ministry approval.”

“Short sighted and idiotic.” 

It was nice to hear support, especially from someone as unlikely as Harry Potter, Severus decided.

Luncheon over, Harry stood up.

“Walk with me. I’m teaching a class in paperweights this evening and need to set up a few things.”

~*~*~*~*~  
Severus slid the thick rubber band behind his head and adjusted the filtering mask to fit over his nose. Harry handed him a pair of Muggle safety glasses. Who knew the raw materials used in glassmaking could be toxic if inhaled?

Harry led the older wizard into a large storage area. Only a small portion of the space was in use. Large labelled drums and bins housed the raw materials to make the clear glass –silica, soda, lime and potassium. The minerals required to create color glass and bins of coarsely ground glass were neatly labeled on a long shelving unit. A bin containing cobalt bore a blue square, manganese a violet square, and zinc a white square. Other minerals to make other colors were stored further down the unit. Smaller bins held different pre-made patterns of cut millefiori canes as well as precious metals such as copper, silver and gold.

Harry measured out several different colors of the ground glass as well as copper to make sparkles. Once he had his selections, Harry opened a door along the interior wall and motioned Severus to follow.

A solid wall of heat hit Severus as he stepped into the actual glass studio. Two men were twisting and pulling molten glass to make the thin canes of multicolored glass. A woman opened the insulated door to a crucible, gathering a globule of glowing glass at the end of her rod. The additional blast of heat took Severus’ breath away.

Severus had always thought he was immune to extreme heat. Standing before open flames and bubbling cauldrons was hot work, but it could not compare to the heat of the glass furnaces. How could anyone work in that heat for hours at a time was beyond him.

He was relieved when they left the workroom and settled back into the garden.

~*~*~*~*~  
“What are your plans now that your sentence has been served?” Harry asked. “Do you plan to brew on your own?”

“I am no longer certain how I would even be able to brew. I lack an adequate work space and I may have difficulty procuring supplies. The London apothecaries have already made it clear to me that my business is no longer welcome, and I do not know if that will be the case with other suppliers in Britain.”

“Are you still a member in good standing with the International Potions Guild? Or was your membership revoked?”

“The IPG is a neutral entity. They care only about skill, not political dogma. Even during my incarceration, I still enjoyed correspondence with several of my contemporaries.”

“Couldn’t you use their influence for your benefit?”

“If you’re thinking they could force Jigger or Mulpepper’s hand, they certainly could…but at a cost. All I could ever hope to receive from them going forward would be inferior in quality or damaged. Given a choice, I would prefer not to patronize their businesses any longer.”

“As a condition of your parole, do you have to remain in the British Isles?”

“I don’t think so,” Severus replied slowly, mentally trying to remember the wording in the documentation.

“So, couldn’t you use your Guild contact to broaden your opportunities, even if it would mean moving abroad?”

“That bears some thought,” Severus mused. He had no living close family and very little, if any, social life. There was nothing really tying him to the island.

“If you decide you don’t want to live abroad, I do have a possible solution.” Harry’s teeth rested on his bottom lip, a sign of his nervousness. The next thing he said could easily blow up in his face. “You could build your potions lab in the unused portion of White Owl’s storage room. And if you require a place to stay, I often house my apprentices and foreign associates in the guest houses behind the studio. I could make one available for your use.”

“Why would you offer that to me? I have no real prospects and I refuse to be in debt to anyone. I won’t be your charity case, Potter.” Shaking in anger and frustration, Severus stood up, intending to leave, but found his way blocked.

“I’m not offering you charity, Severus. I’m offering you a second chance. Merlin knows we’ve both spent too many years being shat on. I found my freedom…I’d like to help you find yours.”

Severus collapsed back onto the bench, his head in his hands. He felt Harry’s hand rub his back, and he was ashamed that he had lost his composure, that he had let his walls fall. Ten years of being hated and ignored had eroded his confidence more than he would have liked to admit.

“Even if it is an adequate space, building from the ground up would be prohibitively expensive. Most of the equipment I’ve used for years was purchased by Hogwarts, so I was forced to leave it behind. The books were my own, so I was able to take them, but everything else needs replacement. I have some money saved, but it’s not enough to replace every stirring rod and cauldron.” His shoulders sagged. “Especially not when I have a name everyone curses and no supplier or client base.”

“You really don’t need to worry about that.”

“I’m not accepting your money.” Severus stated, stubbornly. He still had his pride.

“And I’m not offering it. I’ll expect to be paid rent at some point.” Harry looked at the other man. “For the past ten years, you’ve been brewing most, if not all, of the specialty potions for St. Mungo’s, right?”

“I’ve brewed some of them even before my fall from grace. I never brewed the simples – Skele-Gro, Burn Paste, Pepperup, or some of the basic Blood Replenishers.”

“Any third-rate potioneer can brew those. I know that because we use Burn Paste by the cauldron-full and I brew it in my half-arsed lab.” Harry let out a disparaging snort. “But what they can’t brew in-house are the specialty potions. Only an idiot would trust a hack to brew Veritaserum or Wolfsbane. Tell me, how many potions masters are there in Britain that can brew HeartsEase?”

“Three that I know of.”

“Including yourself?

“Yes, and one of the other potions masters is semi-retired.”

“How long do you think it will take for St. Mungo’s to begin to run low on critical potions? How long will it take them to search for other sources and come up empty? I give it a month, two months top, until Healer Smethwyck shows up with a proposal in hand.

“Hermione went into law, so I have her on retainer for my business. I am sure that between your Gringotts account manager and Hermione, you’ll be able to force…I mean forge…a pretty equitable agreement with the hospital.”

Severus looked at Harry in admiration. He was beginning to realize how ruthless the former Potter had become. How had he not ended up in Slytherin?

~*~*~*~*~  
Severus stood in the unused area of the glass studio storage room. In the corner, furthest away from the glassmaking supplies, there was a gas-powered hob, a sturdy farm table, and a small collection of brewing equipment. An overly ornate Victorian bookcase, obviously a reject from someone, held several books on basic household brewing and a few labeled jars and vials.

Half-arsed lab, indeed.

Actually the hob wasn’t a bad idea, but to brew professional grade potions, he would need one of at least restaurant or industrial grade.

He opened a jar of the Burn Paste. He sniffed it and rubbed a dollop of the paste between his fingers. It was more than adequate. 

Severus paced off the area, thinking about an efficient work space. A firewall would need to be built, separating the potions lab from the glassmaking storage area, before any serious brewing could occur.

Unbidden, a mug of hot tea materialized on the top of the bookcase.

“Grazie, Viola,” Severus said and heard a giggle. Was his pronunciation that bad?

~*~*~*~*~  
Harry studied the detailed floor plans Severus drew up. The footprint was small, an efficient space for a single brewer, but could easily be expanded later if needs arose. Harry knew Severus was deliberately leaving it sparse, afraid to spend for an uncertain future.

They looked at the small collection of brewing equipment laid out on the farm table. The items had been gathered from Spinner’s End, Severus’ Hogwarts trunk, and the oddments Harry had used to brew.

It was a motley assortment. 

Severus closed his eyes and tried not to let depression set in. This all seemed a fool’s dream. He looked at the long list of items he would still need to purchase, and honestly, he just didn’t know where to begin.

“I have a proposition for you.” Harry’s voice broke the silence. “I’ll be going back to Murano this Friday for about a month. I want you to join me.”

“I need to set up the lab. I don’t have the time or the funds to waste on holiday.”

“Hear me out,” Harry ordered in a no-nonsense tone. “You’ll be a guest in my home, so it will not cost you a knut. I want you to spend the first week or so just being a tourist…taking in the sights of Venice, sampling the cuisine…concentrating on nothing but relaxation. Take that time to examine yourself and determine what you want out of life. What makes you happy. Think hard on whether you really want to continue brewing for the ungrateful masses or if you’d rather go in another direction entirely. Don’t think about economics. Think about what you need.”

“And after that week?”

“If you decide you still want to brew, either professionally, in a research capacity, or both, then we will know the parameters and we can begin to shop. I know of two glass houses in the Murano Magical Quarter that specialize in potions-grade glassware. I don’t know what, if anything, is available on the Muggle side. Purchasing direct from the factory will net you a discount.”

That made sense, Severus thought to himself. And he had always wanted to travel.

~*~*~*~*~  
Severus looked at the empty bookcases in the small cottage and wondered if there was a way to squeeze another one in. If not, he wasn’t sure where he could store his treasured collection of Potions and Defense tomes.

After spending his entire life living in poverty in Spinner’s End or in the dungeons of Hogwarts, it seemed strange to be unpacking into this bright sun-filled space. Other than books, he really did not have many personal possessions, so it would not take long to move in.

Looking at his clothing hanging in the wardrobe, all he could see was black, black, white, and black. The heavy robes would now have limited use. His clothing, appropriate for the cold of Scotland, was inappropriate for the warmer climate of Italy. He would need to acquire a Muggle-leaning wardrobe and, frankly, after decades of wearing it, he was tired of dressing in all black.

~*~*~*~*~  
“Do you know what happened to Argus’ cat? We couldn’t find her after you left.”

“I took Mrs. Norris with me. There wasn’t a place for either of us in Hogwarts any more. She liked Italy – lots of sun to sleep in and tasty rats to chase. She died in her sleep about seven years ago.”

“You never got another pet?”

“I have a pair of post owls, but they are not particularly affectionate.”

“I haven’t noticed an owlery. Where do you keep them?”

“They have a space on the roof. It looks like an air turbine from the ground. You can access them through a stairway in the office if you need to borrow one.”

“How do you explain owl post to your staff?”

“You’re under the impression that White Owl is a Muggle business. It’s not.” Harry ran his fingers through his hair. “You can’t use magic when creating glass. Even the wizard glassblowers on Murano don’t use magic around their glass. Magic effects the very structure of the glass, it makes it crack.”

“But you use electricity and the furnaces…”

“It’s a tool, nothing else. Everything we create is made with our hands. You’ve used a hob to brew your potions before, haven’t you? Does that make it any less a potion?”

“No.” Severus paused. “Your temperature control can be more precise. You can’t say that about the fluctuations in an open flame.”

“With the exception of a few spouses or siblings, all the staff are magical, be they Pureblood, Halfblood, Muggleborn, or Squib. Living as we do at the edge of the mixed community of Godric’s Hollow, we’re kind of hiding in plain sight of the Muggles any way.”

“The apprentices and students?”

“All my apprentices know of magic before they come to stay, whether they can use it or not. The students are usually Muggle, but since most classes run only one or two days, they take the class, make their trinket, and then they are gone. With no magic being used around glass, they don’t see anything suspicious.”

Severus muttered something about hallucinations brought about by extreme heat, and Harry laughed.

~*~*~*~*~  
“Why did you decide to open a shop in Diagon Alley? Doesn’t that put you at risk of discovery?”

“Iago Harford owns Whimsy and no one has ever seen him. He’s the mythological recluse of an artist who lives somewhere in Italy,” Harry replied, tongue in cheek.

“And if they discover that he is a Squib? You know how ingrained the prejudice is. Do you think that it would affect your business?”

“They will choose to buy our glass, or they won’t. In the end, it doesn’t really matter. With the Muggle Internet, White Owl Studios ships internationally. We don’t actually need a brick and mortar shop to succeed.”

~*~*~*~*~  
“You’re not wearing a watch,” Severus suddenly announced during a shared meal the day before their holiday in Murano. “Before you disappeared you were talking about the magic you would miss, and you specifically mentioned needing to purchase a wristwatch.”

“I don’t wear a wristwatch, because I don’t need one.” Harry smirked.

“This has something to do with the contract you signed for that goblin.” Severus narrowed his eyes. “You said something about ‘Since at that point, I had no magic.’ You never explained what you meant by that.”

Harry set down his fork and gave Severus an appraising look. He held out his left hand and, using two fingers from his right hand, tapped the inside of his wrist.

“Tempus,” he said as ghostly numbers floated above his wrist for several seconds.

“Your magic came back,” Severus was stunned.

“Not precisely. I am now more of what you’d call a Hedge Witch. I am not powerful enough to wield a wand for any practical purposes, and I wouldn’t be powerful enough to attend Hogwarts, but I have enough magic to perform small spells wandlessly.”

“The little things you said you’d miss.” Severus remembered how sad the younger Harry had been at the loss of his everyday magic. “When did it come back?”

“Unspeakable Croaker was wrong. When Riddle’s Horcrux invaded my toddler body, it damaged my magic, but it did not destroy it. It took almost a year, but my body was able to rebuild the magical channels on its own. There is no way to know how powerful I could have been if not for the attack, but I’m fine with being a Hedge Witch.”

“Does Croaker know?”

“No. And you’re not going to tell him.”

And he wouldn’t. Severus could see that Harry, _just_ Harry, was finally comfortable in his own skin, and he wouldn’t do anything to change that.

Severus found he was looking forward to his holiday. Perhaps he could finally find his own peace.

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Direct quote from _Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows_  
>  (2) Whimsy: endearing quaintness or oddity - the quality of being slightly odd or playfully humorous, especially in an endearing way an impulsive notion - an idea that has no immediately obvious reason to exist. 
> 
> Please leave a comment here or at [LiveJournal](https://snape-potter.livejournal.com/3878298.html), [Insanejournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snape_potter/1808429.html), or [Dreamwidth](https://snape-potter.dreamwidth.org/1134030.html).


End file.
